To Big Jim Arness for his 81st birthday! Tall in the saddle, a cut above...

A good citizen of Kansas, a centennial ago
(1870’s if one's to be exact),
could sleep soundly in his blankets certain that the Lord above
had commissioned a big man to watch his back.

From the moment the young lawman, Marshal Dillon, known as Matt,
had arrived in Dodge, one thing was crystal clear . . .
that along with the outlaws up there on Boot Hill,
Lawlessness would be buried right here.

He was tall as a redwood, and straight as a post.
On his broad chest he wore a tin star.
And his sacrifice, made in the name of the badge,
reflected a man above par.

His friends he could number on just the one hand,
though their loyalty none could deny.
They’d each proven their faithfulness time and again.
Such luxuries, money can’t buy.

The doctor, named Adams, though grumpy at times,
was a friend who could counsel, advise.
For along with the medical jargon he’d spout,
Galen Adams was honest and wise.

Although Matt could have had any woman he chose
to court under cover of moon,
The lady he favored above anyone else
could be found in the Long Branch Saloon.

Kitty Russell, a redhead, was one of a kind,
both tough, and yet tender inside.
And the marshal was faithful for most twenty years,
even though she was never his bride.

Both Chester and Festus, plus Newly and Quint
each deputized, answered the call
to back up the marshal protecting the town—
their mission, true justice for all.

And when they were finished, the bad guy in jail,
they’d head out for a cold mug of brew,
where Miss Kitty would pour them a drink on the house
(although Festus would try to score two.)

So now, in conclusion, let’s all drink a toast,
be it rotgut or beer in your glass,
to Marshal Matt Dillon, the hero of Dodge,
distinguished by honor and class.